His spirit
by GarGoyl
Summary: One shot sequel to Untouched, mainly about Undertaker and his 'daughter'. Written at the request of Sebastian himself... Rated for some minor language.


A/N – Hello everyone! (This is seriously getting old, I must come up with a new greeting this century...) At the request of a dear friend –Aservis Roturier – I have come up with this little Untouched sequel, which mostly revolves around the one and only Undertaker and his 'recently revealed' daughter Espiritus.

* * *

Pale, fading light was filtering through the curtains as the demon sat at his small desk, once again leafing through an impressive pile of papers, his handsome face a mixture of boredom and sourness.

"We're two thousand short to even call this a break-even," he said eventually. "We either need a discount or more time to pay before my household's name makes it into Underworld's bad debtors list. And then the Council will question our reputation and so on…" Sebastian waved his hand dismissively, with a deep sigh. "All in all, it's bad. What _is_ the Undertaker's issue anyway? He's a body snatcher, he gathers the corpses _for free_!"

The dark haired, pale brunette standing in front of him simply shrugged. "I strongly suspect his only issue is that he's a tight fisted bastard, milord. Oh, that and the pancakes with cream didn't help."

"My, not only is he being an unpleasant father figure, he is ungrateful too. Indeed, he should have been served _someone else's_ 'desserts assortment'," the demon observed.

"Speaking of which, master, "Ciel cut in, crossing his arms with a stern expression, "I really think we should-"

However, Sebastian's shaking finger promptly interrupted him."No, no, little one, we are not going over _that_ debate regarding the current state of our kitchen and its produce again," he warned. "That is not an issue."

"But I'm hungry!" the young earl pointed, pouting. To which the older demon only raised his eyebrows, but no satisfactory answer was given. "I am going to get a job, you know, master? I mean… a _contract_."

"Hmm…"

"Yes! I will contract someone to be their butler in exchange for their soul!" Ciel stated, determined.

A heavy silence fell upon the small study, as the Black Crow solemnly rose from his desk with a grave air and proceeded to lean against the window frame, staring thoughtfully somewhere past the stained glass. Minutes felt like centuries as Sebastian remained oddly silent, an utterly unreadable expression upon his features. But then, suddenly, his mouth twitched briefly, as if here fighting some urge, before bursting into a completely uncontrolled fit of laughter. And indeed, his amusement was nothing but genuine, unrestrained, the sort that neither his newly appointed steward, nor his minion had ever witnessed. Es scowled lightly, almost disbelieving, while Ciel looked about to stomp his foot in anger.

"I am being completely serious, Seb-… master!" the young earl emphasized, his eyes even flashing a bright magenta for a moment.

But if anything, the statement had the older demon collapsing back into his seat, laughing even harder. "I know, HA HA HA HAAA! That's the funny part!" Sebastian replied, choking and pointing at the boy and his steward turned livid realising that his master was actually pointing at his – once again wrongly buttoned – shirt.

"It worked the last time, did it not?"

"Oh, sure," the Black Crow replied, garnet eyes shining with mirth. "Ciel, you must understand that…" he paused, clearing his throat and struggling to regain his composure at least partially. "…that if you become a contracted butler, no one will ever contract a demon butler, like ever again!" Just as he was saying that, a new fit of laughter shook his whole frame. "Actually, scratch that! No one will ever take up _any sort of butler_ ever again!"

Es cleared her throat. "Well, master, I will be going now. I'm thinking that our pursuit is worth a last try…" she said and bowed slightly, retreating.

"Oh, maybe find out what's the blasted reaper's favorite food anyway?" Sebastian suggested, craning his neck past Ciel's petite frame.

"Of course, milord."

"I could contract a child, you know? How difficult can _that_ be?" the minion heard the little demon insist as she walked away from the study, leaving the two with their debate.

"Well, that might turn out to be a very short engagement, indeed," Sebastian pointed out, "It would not be long before your young master would succumb as a result of half-baked desserts and psychedelic, whisky based 'tea'. You might consider someone with a stronger stomach!"

At this point, Es was convinced that her master was probably rolling on the floor, in a genuine danger of laughing himself to death.

* * *

In the meantime, the Undertaker was having some obvious trouble of his own. Annoyed, he ripped his hat off his head and threw it across the room, releasing a string of curses as several pages of his ledger, covered in unsightly and completely illegible handwriting, went flying the moment he opened the damned thing. If he was bad with keeping the books, then Grell was indescribable. The reaper cursed the day he'd had the idea to let the crazy redhead take charge of the debtors ledger. It was a mess. Undertaker had heard at some point – albeit it was admittedly just a rumor – that some people had the unfortunate 'ability' of turning to shit every single thing they touched. And now he found himself thinking that perhaps it wasn't just a rumor – maybe the 'gift' existed and maybe Grell had it too.

But then the doorbell alerted him that someone had just entered the shop and the silver-haired reaper ran a weary hand through his hair. He sought his hat, but as it wasn't anywhere in sight, he decided to go without. Groaning, he scooped and proceeded to gather the fallen pages, hardly resisting the urge to crumple them and toss them into the fireplace.

"Hello? Are you in there, Mr. Undertaker? I'm getting old in here!"

'You already did,' the reaper almost shot back, before recognizing the voice. Slamming the bothersome pile onto his desk, he straightened his back and pushed the ragged curtain aside slowly. And there _she_ was. Espiritus. Undertaker had never quite understood the _untouchables_ – the Council's watch dogs, for example why they gave their children such peculiar names. How the hell was 'Espiritus' a girl's name, anyway? He stood in the doorframe, the shadow of a smile upon his face as he took in the shapely form of the one he'd so boldly called 'daughter', in a moment of madness. And now he didn't even know how to address her anymore, one did not call their daughter 'milady', did they?

"What a lovely surprise!" he chuckled, trying not to appear out of character. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?" the silver-haired shinigami asked, noticing that she wasn't glancing around at the coffins on display, but rather fixing him with the same unreadable expression which was always plastered on William's face.

"Master thinks you're in need of some help in the kitchen. Seeing how you only appear able to prepare those appalling bone-shaped biscuits…" Es said neutrally, pointing at the jar resting on the counter. "I brought some supplies too," she added, holding up a bag of groceries.

Undertaker blinked, almost wincing. Perhaps now it was the time to set things straight and really come clean. She'd understand. She wouldn't throw a fit, just look at him coldly and nod, probably. _Just like William…_

"Oh, well then, much appreciated, " he croaked in reply, showing the brunette into the small kitchen. "But I have to say, for one as loyal as you are to your master, you are hardly putting enough heart into his negotiation. Don't think I don't know what this is…" he added, trying to will away the increasingly annoying thoughts of his former co-worker. "And I know you're upset with me."

Es opened a cabinet, pulling out an average-sized pot and examining it briefly. "I'm not awfully hurt, if that's what you're saying," she said calmly, beginning to take various vegetables out of the bag. "It did strike me odd why you would choose to tell me that now, though. If you were trying to get a better price, in the same way we're seeking to obtain a discount, then it's a mutual waste of time."

Undertaker sighed, scratching his head. "Alright… I may have exaggerated. You're not my _blood_ daughter, but I felt compelled… when you lot went after Faustus – and I've long known of this Faustus fellow, mind you – I was worried. I had to do something! I did something…"

To his surprise, Es laughed softly. "Of course, you totally did! You put your most badass scythe in the hands of a thirteen year-old boy who can't even button his shirt right. Seriously, how could you believe that saying I was your daughter was actually going to help in any way?"

The reaper shrugged, flipping a long strand of hair over his shoulder. "I may have gotten overemotional. You're not my blood daughter, but you _are_ my daughter nevertheless. I see it this way. Look, you know William Spears, right?"

"Of course I do, I know all of you lot. One lucky girl, am I not?"

Undertaker chose to ignore the sarcasm. "So, there was your mother, a prudish, highly insane, married and totally gorgeous woman and there was also William, stern face, stick-up-his-ass, all work and no smile kind of fellow. He decided that he wanted this woman in his bed –however briefly - and I made it possible. So when you were born… I felt responsible. You _are_ my doing, after all."

"So… if one sells lust potions and a child is born as a result, they what, become a parent? That's a rather disturbing thought, even coming from you," Es observed, throwing the now randomly chopped ingredients into the water-filled pot.

Undertaker rolled his eyes, suddenly slamming his palms on the table. "Why do you have to be like this!? Why do you have to stand there, going on with your work with that blank expression on your face as if you weren't angry that all this was kept from you? Why must you be so much like him?!" he raised his voice, not really meaning to but ending up doing it anyway. "He made the same face when I told him you were born!"

"Maybe because he really didn't give a fuck, you know?" Es now dug into a drawer, picking up a long spoon to stir with and sighing. "Look, Undertaker, I _already had_ a father and he was fine while he was around, he really loved me. As for the real thing, I don't really care whether it's you or William Spears." She frowned at the boiling pot, lips twitching as if she were struggling to get something out. "But I am angry with you, because you tricked me!"

The silver-haired reaper gasped, feigning surprise. "That can't be true!" he defended."I only trick my customers and I don't remember selling anything to you in person. So how, pray tell, did I trick you?"

"Look at you!" Es said, for once with un-dissimulated disappointment. "You look like a young man! Young, like… _like me_!"

Undertaker blinked, uncomprehending. Of course he looked young – all reapers looked ageless.

"I wanted – emphasis on the past time! – to ask you to come to a dance with me! Of course, before you dropped the father bomb _AND_ it turned out that you're really… old." She sighed again, hunching over the pot with an air of exhaustion.

The reaper simply stood there, frozen. Oh yes, there was a problem, but he'd gotten it completely wrong. But then why would she… why would _anyone_?

"Well, how…? I mean… nobody has ever asked me to a dance before. Nobody has asked me anywhere in fact…" he admitted sheepishly, grateful for the long bangs covering his eyes. This was very… odd.

"Really? How strange," the brunette observed, "I mean, it's not like you were running a mortician parlor or anything…"

"Tch! I mean no one has asked William or Grell either!"

"William works too much, so he has no time. Grell is gender-confused, so maybe someone would ask, but what the hell are they asking for, exactly? Just saying…" she replied innocently, her emotions again disappearing behind that blank, exasperating mask.

Sighing, Undertaker brushed his hair out of his face, revealing it fully before he reached out and brushed some dark strands which had fallen on the minion's forehead. "My dear Espiritus, I love you, but you're a child," he murmured gently.

"I'm not a child, you're an old fart. Deal with it."

"But you serve Sebastian Michaelis. I assumed…"

"_OH! OH MY EARS HAVE BEEN TOUCHED BY BLISS! HAS ANYONE MENTIONED MY SWEET BASSY?!" _The shrieking voice was immediately followed by Grell's head popping into the kitchen, much to the other reaper's annoyance. He really did have the gift of turning everything to shit!

"Grell, your 'sweet Bassy' is not here. Please fuck off!" he hissed.

"_BUT I MUST KNOW HOW HE IS, AT LEAST! OH, HOW MY HEART THROBS!"_

Grell didn't give up until a large and particularly heavy-looking mug wasn't launched in the general direction of his face.

Undertaker was suddenly distracted when the brunette got hold of a random braid in his hair and wrapped it slowly around her finger."Sebastian and I… well we don't exactly click and besides, it would be unethical, he's my master," she said, her dark orbs taking in his every feature and the reaper cringed at the yet-another-William-like-word. "I liked a few men in my life, but I never wanted anyone as I wanted _you_, Undertaker. Again, emphasis on the past tense…"

A black nailed hand rose to cup the girl's pale cheek, as the Undertaker pulled out one of her hairpins and used it to fix his own bangs away from his face. He then ran his hand through the expanse of black, soft hair, ever-so-gently. "I never, ever wanted to break your heart. Please forgive me!"

Es held his gaze with a small smile, her eyes trailing first along the scar on his face, then moving to the one running across his throat. "But you're good with stitches, aren't you?"

"Oh, you have no idea…" he chuckled, leaning down to meet her lips.

* * *

The silver-haired reaper walked steadily through the large hall, boringly contemplating the task at hand. But then again, who knew? Maybe _his_ face would actually fall off or something. That would have been a laugh!

"William," he said, half leaning over the large desk and observing the bespectacled man hunched over a large stack of papers.

"Undertaker," the other acknowledged briefly, not looking up yet. "May I help you?"

The other reaper resisted a sudden urge to chuckle. Or maybe he was nervous? "Ah, you know, I came… " he paused, taking a deep breath, "actually I came to talk to you about your daughter."

Eyebrows rising slightly, William T. Spears continued to ignore him. "Undertaker, from what I remember you used to be a man of conciseness and purpose. Now you've come to waste my time reminiscing about… old stuff? Can't you see I have work to do? Actually no, you don't see, because you're not doing any yourself. Anymore, that is."

Undertaker sighed. "Actually, William, I am as always a man of conciseness and purpose. I only came to inform you, with regard to your daughter-"

"Is she dead?" the dark-haired man interrupted him, boredly. Predictable, the kind of question a shinigami would ask.

"No, William. I came to tell you that I'm marrying her."

The chief reaper froze for a moment, his work forgotten, then he slowly proceeded to remove his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose. But he said nothing.

"Oh well, that was a big surprise," Undertaker chuckled sarcastically. "And here I thought the news would bring tears of happiness to your eyes," he added, turning on his heels and heading towards the exit.

"That's absurd!" he suddenly heard the other reaper shouting after him. "I'll have you know that I disapprove of this!"

"Well… that's too bad. Deal with it."

**THE END**


End file.
